Other lives matter, completely different from your own,

Who never send you music on your cell phone,

Who never develop secret crushes on you,

Who don’t do disgusting things you do,

Who never make a peep and quietly pay the fee,

Who navigate icy rivers for glory,

Who feed thousands from a golden throne.


Other lives matter who are long dead,

Who never come near you or enter your head,

Who you never discover on the internet,

Who you know for a moment and then forget,

Who die minutes from you with strange cries,

Who had the most fascinating eyes,

Who are gone forever on some strange highway fled.


Other lives matter who rose in the spring

To be loved liked summer on a summer’s day,

Where summer breezes, around tree and tree and tree, vanished, dying away.


Other lives matter that you never heard moan,

Because they sang another song, and lived on their own.

But the other life that matters most, a life never spoken, broken, or known,

Is your life, you, strangest of all lives, you, standing by your shadow, inviolate, alone.







1 Comment

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    November 25, 2015 at 9:53 pm

    The shadow from the pictures got into the poem! Mysterious shadow. Did you ever read Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale on the shadow. Not at all like his other fairy tales. Extremely spooky. Could have been a fairy tale by Poe. I’m not sure if it’s called the shadow. This is an exceedingly lyrical poem apolitcal, gloriously apolitical poem and I like it very much. Extreme imagination throughout only slightly tangled up but untangling from the surfaces of cell phones, internet and running a riotous garden over all of it, impinging on the pinging.

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